Black
Bellied Whistling Duck
In
2003 through 2006 I had a small (VERY small) “ranch” south of
Alice. There I enjoyed bird watching, and compiled what was for me a
significant list of identified bird sightings.
Some
were unique occurrences, a “one time only” event. But I didn’t
list them unless, with bird book in hand and ten power binoculars in
play, I could make a positive identification.
Other
were frequent recurring visitors.
Such
it was with the Black Bellied Whistling Duck.
The
first sighting was a solitary individual, who walked across my
property as if it felt at home, giving ample opportunity for certain
identification.
Then
there were two.
And
one glorious day they slowly and majestically paraded their new
family of eight across my driveway, walking single file, one adult in
front, the other following the line of ducklings.
I
continued to enjoy their visits while I remained on my “ranch”.
After
I moved into town I occasionally saw one of these ducks perched on
telephone lines!
I’ve
never seen any other duck sitting on a wire — and I’ve seen a few
ducks.
When
they utter their unique vocalization, from their vantage point on the
high telephone wire, would that be a long distance call?
Texas
Cuckoo
One
hot summer morning in 1988 my wife and I drove to the Pedernales
State Park east of Johnson City in Central Texas. We watched for
wildlife along the road leading into the park, and were rewarded with
our first sighting of a punk rock roadrunner.
Roadrunners
are fairly common in Texas, and I have seen many. But the sight we
saw that day will long be remembered. The cuckoo sat beneath a small
thorn bush just across the ditch alongside the road, and stared at us
as we marveled at him. He stood and erected his crest, and amazed us
with the revealed brilliant orange coloration. When he folded it he
appeared as any road runner, stately in his gangly pride, with
contrasting black, white and brown. But when he erected that crest
the luminescent orange was magnificent!
Bird
calls
When
I told Stan that I had heard a roadrunner cooing, he was skeptical.
“In my half century in the South Texas brush I have seen a bunch of
roadrunners, and I never heard them coo.”
Well,
I understood his dubiosity, but I know what I heard. I was looking
right at the bird when it cooed, saw its movements when making the
sound, and heard it clearly. Similar to what a pigeon does, but at a
lower pitch.
I
saw that bird frequently while I sat in the porch swing at my “ranch”
(A one room house on a large one acre tract). The elegant fowl
pursued its life in the mesquite thicket between my house and the
highway, and occasionally I heard it cooing. One day, in an exuberant
state of Dr. Doolittle optimism, I attempted to duplicate the sound I
heard.
Frankly,
I had no expectation of the same success I remember in calling a
quail.
To
my amazed gratification, the roadrunner replied. More than that, it
began moving in my direction. I called again, probably five times in
all. With each exchange, the bird moved a little closer. A few
halting steps each time it answered, then a pause to assess. It
moved in the open, along my driveway, approaching my position in the
porch swing. Finally it became too nervous, and half ran, half flew
back to the safety of the thicket.
Some
years before, while sitting alone in my car at the skeet range of the
Victoria Gun Club, I heard the familiar covey call of the brown
bombers — and in response to my call a big cock quail walked to and
around the car. He stopped beside the car door, cocked his head and
looked up at me...
FOWL
OF A FEATHER
Occasionally
I was honored by the passing of a flight of wild geese. Canadian
honkers. Beautiful. It was always a thrill to watch a flight of the
big black and white birds honk their way past in an early morning
fog.
One
morning while I sat in my swing, reading and relaxing, I heard a
flight of geese approaching. I put my book down to watch them, and I
was pleased to see about twelve or fifteen geese approaching from the
South, low over the trees.
But
wait – there’s something strange!
They
were flying in their typical V-formation. But they were low, zigging
and zagging in a way never seen before.
As
I watched, fascinated, they approached, generally headed toward me.
And finally they were close enough to see that the leader was smaller
… could it be a … ?… yes, it was!
A
mallard drake – green head distinctive – was leading the flight
of geese. He seemed to be trying to elude them, but they matched his
every turn, across my pasture and beyond the trees.
Sparrow
Hawk
I
have a new companion. No, let me choose another word —
a new neighbor. His awareness of me is much less than my appreciation
of him. He watches me in cautious speculation whenever I am too close
– but otherwise he is intent on his own pursuits, and remains
blithely unaware of my gaze.
This
small Sparrow Hawk sits in silent, patient watchfulness on the power
line along the highway, straight out from my kitchen window. I
stand in quiet admiration, observing his occasional plunge to the
grass below, extracting an insect or small animal for a hasty meal.
He carries it with him to his perch, eating on the mount, and then
resumes the hunt.
As
I sat in my porch swing, alternating my gaze from him to a
red-bellied woodpecker in the mesquite across the driveway, the hawk
spied an item of interest in the driveway in front of me. Swooping in
colorful rufous display he swept up a tidbit too small for me to see
at thirty feet – and yet he had discerned it from over thirty
meters.
As
I carried the garbage can to the road behind my house for pickup by
the obliging county truck my ubiquitous sparrow hawk flew in
acrobatic abandon not twenty feet from me, chasing a very frightened
curved-bill thrasher, which protested noisily as it dove to safety in
the brush pile alongside the road. The small hawk abandoned the
chase, but the thrasher was so frightened that it refused to leave
its refuge in the thorny limbs. It eyed me warily, but clung
tenaciously to the security it had found, even though I approached
within ten feet.
The
sparrow hawk has been resident here for about a month. Where, I
wonder, did it abide previously? And how long will it bless me with
its entertaining presence?
No
matter – I will enjoy it so long as it graces my neighborhood, and
then I will look anew to another neighbor. Spring approaches, and
with it the return of the scissortails, with their noisy chittering
and graceful aerial ballet. Life is a tableau of continuing, changing
delights. And I enjoy them all.
